Expect Nothing Less: An Overwatch Saga
by ThiccCage
Summary: The tales and trials of 28 of the world's best heroes, criminals, and omnics. Very mild sexual content, hide your Bible. I'm not quite sure how long this will be, but expect it to be a long, wild, wet, and spiritually satiating ride.
1. I Don't Think We're In Gibraltar Anymore

"Lena, I don't think we're in Gibraltar anymore." It was Winston speaking.

"Well, where in bloody 'ell are we?" Apart from the sudden displacement from the Watchpoint laboratory, Tracer was feeling very sore, as if she had just slept for a long time.

Winston fumbled with something on his armor.

"Doesn't seem my GPS is up and running normally. I'll have to figure this out, give me a second."

Tracer took in the area. They were in a clearing in a forest- a stark contrast to the mountains of Watchpoint Gibraltar, where Winston had been working on a new teleportation device. _Bloody bugger, I should never have helped him out with that… that nonsense. No... That's not fair. I couldn't have just left him on his own, and I shouldn't have these thoughts about a friend anyway. It's not fair to Winston, and it's not a good attitude to give in to._

"You got it. And while you're going at that, I'll go ahead and have a look-see around."

The heavy trees gave way to a path at one end of the clearing, and Tracer began to take towards it, but instead muttered a cry.

"Lena? Are you feeling alright?"

"It's fine, Winston, I just… the bloody chronal accelerator must be jammed. I-" _can't even blink_ , she would have said, had she not snapped right out of thin air.

 _Oh, dear…_ Winston thought, _Oh, no, this is…. This is not good._


	2. Escapade's Born

While Tracer blinked out of time and space, a certain dynamite duo was sitting at a bashed up card table.

"You hook em, I cook em! Alright!" It was Tuesday night, which meant Jamie was channeling his near psychotic energy towards the thing he loved the most in this world, that kept him on his feet and in as sound a mind as possible for a victim of heavy radioactive poisoning: heisting.

"You're gonna love what I have planned, Mako! The oh-so-precious Bank of Numbani is about to celebrate their first full year of operation! There will be a party, and cake, and balloons, and oh-so-many goodies, and I know how much you like goodies!"

Mako was silent, but Jamie was sure he was smiling agreeably from behind his mask.

"Not for us, though! No, the real goodies, our goodies, are within the vaults of the bank! The cells, if you will! We muse FREE THEM!" With that, he threw himself against the carefully drawn blueprints on the card table and broke into sobs. A large, soft hand extended to his shoulder, causing him to look up, a crazed smile on his wet, red face.

"You're right, buddy, we've gotta keep our cool, that's it. We've gotta be masters of disguise, and if we're gonna do that, we need straight faces. And for that matter, faces that aren't our own! Tell me, how are those skin masks coming along?"

Mako Rutledge thought back to the days when his life made sense.

"Fair point, fair point, if we used skin masks, we'd have to cover up the rest of our body in other peoples' skin as well, and that wouldn't look very quaint at all! Well, what do we have?"

Mako thought about stealing a boat and sailing away.

"I know! Don't move!" Jamie said in a singsongy fashion as he slinked from the table to the disguise room.

Mako didn't like this very much, but the only way out was to give up the good moments with Jamie, as distant as they already seemed during times like this.

Soon Jamison Fawkes was back with two duffel bags, one considerably bigger than the other.

"I've got the perfect way to get past the guards right here in these bags!"

He unzipped one and then the other, and pulled out two costumes. One was that of a prison guard, the other a pirate.

"I know what you're thinking: how are a prison guard and a pirate supposed to pull off a bank heist? The trick, you see, lies within the intrigue…"


	3. Dicks 'N Dongs

"I don't play games." Jack Morrison protested. How did he keep getting involved in Hana's dumb "hangouts"? Sure, she was practically his best friend- not that he would admit it- but surely there had to be some limits to what she could get away with dragging him to.

"Man, this is Dungeons and Dragons, you're gonna love it. You know you want some, you just don't know it yet!" Lucio. There was a naive young punk if Jack had ever seen one. All grown up and he still hasn't seen that this world will never change. Or rather, it will change through force before it changes through that nonsense techno crap those kids call music.

"I'll stay for one round, and then I'm bolting outta here."

"That's what you think" Olivia Colomar smirked.

Olivia's house in Dorado was never a good place for Jack to be, and this Tuesday night was already proving to be no exception.

"You all got your character sheets?" Lucio asked.

"Si"

"Yep!"

"Yeah"

"Alright! Let's set the scene… in a musky inn, your party enters. A paladin, a rogue, and a ranger, all tired and looking for a good approach the bartender, a handsome Brazilian man."

"I roll for charisma on the bartender." Olivia said with a concentrated look.

"Oh, now, you sure you wanna be doin' that? Alright."

Hana rolled the die- 17.

Lucio sighed. "The Rogue Syora speaks to the bartender, who immediately becomes transfixed with her."

"This is ridiculous." Jack protested, once again.

Hana- "Shhhh, it's getting good."

"The bartender asks if he can do anything for Syora."

"Actually, there is one thing.. My party and I have been through much battle and are very parched and hungry. Unfortunately, we have no money. Surely that wouldn't be a problem for a man like yourself?"

Hana giggled.

" 'No, of course not.' The bartender says. Soon, your party is sitting at a table eating and drinking to their hearts' content, all for free."

"I roll to steal a drink from the next table."

"Hana, you have all the drinks you want."

"I. Roll."

"I…. ahhhh… well, alright then."

Hana rolled a 10.

"You sneak over to the table and grab hold of the drink, but you didn't wait until the guy looked away, so he catches you."

"Hold on, Lucio." Jack said at once. "I punch the guy in the gut."

"Guys, this wasn't supposed to happen.."

"Just roll."

"Aight… a 15. You dash towards the man and you jab him in the gut. It's clumsy, and it and doesn't hurt him much, but it was enough for Hana to get away- and with the drink."

"He he, thanks daddy-o!"

"I'm not your father." Jack spat back, though with the slightest hint of a smirk.

"I give the drink to Jack."

"Alright." Lucio said. "The paladin Hanarth gives the drink to the ranger Jack." Jack Morrison had declined to give his character a name.

"Erm, thank you." He said with a bashful grimace.

"I think I need something else from the bartender" Olivia said, "I don't think my thirst has been… entirely satiated. Oh, Mr?"

"The bartender comes around and asks you what you need."

"Oh, I was just wondering…" Olivia said, looking Lucio in the eye with a devilish grin, "if you could meet us in our rooms as quickly as those handsome legs can take you?"

Lucio threw his arms around. "Roll for charisma.."

Natural 20.

Olivia and Lucio ran upstairs to Olivia's bedroom, tearing off their clothes as they went, and leaving Hanna and Jack alone.

"So, Jack.. while the bartender helps out Syora, why don't you and I get comfortable?" She held his eyes in her own deep brown circles, creeping toward him along the couch.

"Ah, damn it."

"This jumpsuit is just sooo tight, and after a whole day of fighting in it I just wanna.. take it off."

Jack stayed motionless where he was, cautiously staring in Hana general direction. Meanwhile, Hana was on her knees, reaching around, peeling off her skintight suit. Suddenly she stopped and let out a surprised cry.

"Hmph.. I can't get it started.. Jack, could you..?"

"What, just so we could fool around?"

Jack moved towards Hana and got the jumpsuit off. She now knelt there on the couch in her underwear.

"There we go.."

Hana sat down next to Jack and rested her head against his buff shoulder.

"It, uh, sure is hot in here" he remarked, "maybe we should go turn the air conditioning on."

"Oh, silly, there's no need for that."

Hana knelt close to Jack, practically laying on him, and unzipped his jacket, revealing a well worn t shirt. She slipped both of these down Jack's bulging arms and marvelled at his rippling abs and pecs. Jack still made no move. She unzipped his pants and pulled them off with a seemingly practiced sensuousness. Now there was only one article between her and Jack's clearly half hard dong. She suddenly felt blood rush to her face, as well as some other areas.

"Feeling spry?"

Meanwhile, in Olivia's room, the business had been immediately put aside in favor of pleasure. As they had made their way to the bedroom, they had tossed aside article after article along the stairs, banister, and hallway until neither of them had a stitch on.

"Lucio, you make me hot as the days of Dorado."

"Baby, you know you drive me wild."

They were standing in the bedroom, each admiring one another's form. Between Lucio's erect cock, his gentle smile, and his chiseled hips, and Olivia's round tits, sloping shoulders, and smooth skin, they each realized they were perfect for each other.

Lucio led Olivia to the bed and shoved her down.

"Yeah, papi, ruin me." She commanded.

Lucio slapped Olivia on her spherical ass and shouted, "Boom!".

"Harder!"

Lucio slapped again, this time hard enough to leave a mark. Then he flipped Olivia around so they were staring eye to eye. Lucio went down on Olivia, first licking her tits around her hard nipples, then making full contact.

"Oh, Lucio!"

While his tongue was busy, Olivia grabbed Lucio by his arms and wrestled him to the floor, landing on top of him.

"Don't stop!" Lucio kept licking her breasts. She began gyrating her hips against him, plunging his dick up into her. Lucio reciprocated by forcing himself up even further. Within just a few thrusts, they were both sweating and moaning like dogs.

"Olivia, you've gotta slow down!"

"I can't believe I'm hearing this from you!" Olivia teased, speeding up and thrusting even harder.

Lucio's arms were still held at him side by Olivia, whose grip was as strong as ever. He couldn't move even if he wanted to, but with this rush, this orgasmic euphoria at stake, why would he? In his days of DJing, he had been with a lot of women, but none so brutal, so dominant, as Olivia. Nothing in his life, or any other for all he cared, could compare to what he was feeling right now. These thoughts flashed through his mind in a tidal wave of pleasure as he and Olivia kept on, her eyes alternating between being shut with euphoria and being open, connected with his.

Olivia was concentrated on her own pleasure. Lucio's stick was a warm means to her climax, and she was not going to let him finish before her- it had been years since she was last with a man, and only once before had she ever been intimate with one. To get this close to that feeling, to even surpass it, only to have it taken away by an ever too swift orgasm that was not hers, would only shame and humiliate her, like being locked up after 10 sweet minutes of freedom outside the cell. So she held him there, thrusting, shoving, trying to reach her G-spot with this man's long, thick shaft.

Soon, or what felt like soon, Olivia felt a riptide of warm syrup gush up into her. Her heart sank. It was over.

"Papi.. its over."

But Lucio kept thrusting.

"Come on baby, I know what you want, and you gotta have it. This is for both of us!"

And with that, Olivia removed her arms and reached underneath Lucio to grab him by the butt. Now, with the combined power of both or their thrusting plus Olivia bringing Lucio up herself, she could feel even more heat flowing down to her nether regions as the tip of Lucio made its final instances of contact with her throbbing clitoris.

"Babe!" She shouted.

"Olivia!"

Juice rained down from Olivia's relieved, aching cunt and onto Lucio's dick and groin. Both of them moaning and profusely sweating, Olivia moved her arms so they were wrapped around Lucio's neck and lowered herself to meet his gleaming chest with her face.

"How'd you like that, papi?" She whispered, looking up at Lucio's soft eyes, his gentle smile.

"Look at us, we did great!" He said before letting his head fall back onto the floor.

Olivia closed her eyes, a satisfied smile bridging her face.


	4. Morning After

That night, Lucio and Olivia slept the best sleeps of their lives and dreamt of sweet things that never cross the minds of those left for other chapters of this saga. Their minds were conjuring images of sweeping valleys where the only issues are superficial and peace is the rule, with no exception. This isn't how life is meant to be, however, and come morning they began to drift awake.

Olivia was in the exact position she had fallen asleep in, the only difference being that she felt Lucio's hard prick against her belly, perhaps in a combination of simple morning wood and lust. But what if that was all this was? Lust? Of course not, that would be stupid, she thought. They had shared something special. They were friends and last night was possibly the step up to a new level in their relationship. She wanted to do something for him, so she smoothly transitioned downward along Lucio's perfect body until his dong was at level with her face.

She began to play with it, running her knuckles against the ever so warm foreskin, which became somehow even more erect against her touch. She was about to begin sucking when a loud thudding noise thundered from downstairs, waking Lucio immediately.

"Babe, what was that?"

"I don't know. Sounds like someone's crashing the party!"

Still bare, they crept down the stairs to investigate. From the first floor landing they could see the living room, from which Jack's snores rang out, and the kitchen, where someone was walking.

"Olivia, I think we should go back upstai-"

"Oi, who's out th….. Lucio, is that you?"

Lena Oxton, walking out of the kitchen, was taken aback.

"You're all… oh, and.. uh, and Sombra, too…"

"Yeah, see, the thing is, we were just, ehhh…"

Sombra shook her head.

"We slept together, for Dios' sake. We fucked, bien? So step off, Tracer!" Sombra spat.

"Oh, no, that's fine, it was just unexpected. Hey, would you two mind helping me with-" and with that, she became a blur and then nothing.

"Did you see that? What on Earth…?" Lucio couldn't believe his eyes.

"Doesn't matter. Lets just get our clothes."

After they went through the chore of retrieving their various scattered articles, they went to the kitchen.

"We should probably check for damage. That sounded nasty, whatever it was Lena did."

One of the cabinets had taken a massive hit, becoming splintered and jumbling the bowls inside.

"Looks like Tracer has some issues with the order of things as well." Sombra smirked.

"Now, hold on, this is pretty iffy. We're sure that was Lena?"

"As sure as Jack hates fun."

"Yeah, alright."

Lucio couldn't believe that Lena would travel along her timeline to the last time she had been at Olivia's house, just to smash a cabinet and leave.

"Well, that sure is a little worrying, but I don't think we should be letting it ruin our morning. How do you take your eggs, while we wait for those two to wake up?"


	5. McCree, Part 1

Jesse and Hanzo were walking to the park. Because of a mission near Dorado, it had been better than a week since they could last get their hands on each other, and they didn't wanna spend a second away from one another while they could help it.

"I'm looking forward to spending the night with you, Jesse."

"Yeah, well, I hear ya. It's been quite a long few nights since we had some alone time together. And what a beaut' for it, too."

The moon was cresting the horizon in front of them, while the sun set on their backs. The stars were out in Hanamura, and the cherry blossoms were a mass of pastel pink. The park was full of sightseers, lovers, and many others. The two of them were laying against a tree when a shooting star passed overhead.

"Make a wish."

"I wish I had you in my arms forever."

"But then who would feed the dragons?"

"You know, Hanzo, sometimes you can just…" Jesse spoke with outrage, but his face was grinning as it moved to meet Hanzo's lips. They kissed with a brief enthusiasm, then withdrew and stared into each other's precious eyes.

"Tell me, Jesse, what are you thinking of right now?"

"Oh, I'd say just about the same as you, sugar."

"In that case, you must be incredibly narcissistic, to be thinking about your own body while mine is right here."

Jesse chuckled loudly.

"Bring it in."

Hanzo locked his arms tight around Jesse's waist and settled against his side, while Jesse put an arm around Hanzo and set his head on top of his shoulder. They each thought about the other, and about spending time together even though they were already as close as two people can be, under that cherry blossom. They thought about drinking hot tea outside on Autumn nights, about Summers spent at the beach, about riding horses together. Hanzo had learned how to ride as a surprise for Jesse, who was just as pleased as he was surprised.

Jesse thought about the first time he had met Hanzo. Back when Jesse was in the Deadlock Gang, the gang had done a small stint of residence in Hanamura. The figuring was that with the Shimada empire at large, there would be little to no attention paid to Deadlock, should they decide to partake in anything particularly unlawful. They had settled into a small, out-of-the-way apartment where they wouldn't be minded. During their week there, Jesse had been in charge of buying cigarettes, food, and some authentic Japanese sake. On one of these runs, he had been checking out at a ratty convenience store when someone knocked over the magazine display.

"Some uncouth girly mag got yer goat there, pard?" Jesse had asked lightly.

The man at the display said nothing, only began to restock it awkwardly.

"You get a lotta drunks around here?" Jesse asked the cashier, who was ringing up the various foodstuffs on the counter. He threw in a couple packs of cigarettes- not too many; he was the only one who smoked. That was, besides Reynolds, the eldest member of Deadlock, and he was well on his way to quitting.

"Only between the hours of 1 and 24." The cashier responded with a wink.

"Heh heh- you're alright, pard."

Jesse paid, took his things including a fake ID he was especially proud of, walked outside, and lit a cigarette against his stubble of a beard. New town, new face- that is, do anything you can to make yourself look different, as new to the world as you were the day your mom spat you out. That's what the Deadlock Gang always went by, and Jesse, the youngest member, never forgot it.

He smoked and stared at the rising sun, which marked the time at 7, if his eye was in any working order. Something you learn when you spend your life on the run is to tell the time by the sky, and by the age of 19, Jesse figured he ought to have mastered that skill almost as well as Reynolds.

As Jesse stood out in front of the store smoking, a dull racket sounded from behind the floor-to-ceiling glass panel. He turned and saw the man from the magazine rack assaulting the cashier. As he watched, the cashier turned to Jesse with a pleading look in his eye, as if asking for help. Jesse was frozen; he didn't know what to do. On one hand, he was becoming masterful in the art of quick calculation under pressure, but on the other hand, he had left his gun behind at the apartment, and without it, he didn't think he could do anything to stop the man who was mercilessly beating the life out of this cashier. Besides, if he helped, these two men would remember his face, and even in that time of panic he recognized that he- they- couldn't afford that.

So he gathered his bag of groceries tightly in his arms and did what he knew- he ran. He ran because he couldn't help, even when it was needed of him, even when he would have. He ran because the look the cashier gave him, the sad, desperate look a man within an inch of his life, made him feel too ashamed of himself for words. And he ran because he was a scared kid caught between many unfortunate paths, just as he had been his whole life. Behind his suave gunslinger identity, Jesse McCree of the Deadlock Gang was barely more than a kid.

A long way down the sidewalk, he stopped to catch his breath and look back at the store. He had covered at least 900 yards; he was a long way from home.

On his way back to the apartment, Jesse stopped at a hole in the wall bar. 8 was barely the time for a drink, but if Jesse didn't get something in his system to calm him down soon, he feared he wouldn't be around to have a drink again at all, normal time or otherwise.

Inside the bar, which was dark and predictably empty, the Gunslinger saddled up to the closest seat to the door and asked for a whole bottle of absinthe. It wasn't his usual drink of choice, but he wanted to forget about what just happened to him, and this would sure as Hell do the trick.

So he drank, and while he drank, the bar seemed to morph. The walls oozed away to be replaced by hard cement and sleek vertical bars The shortened and widened to become stone benches. Even the bartender became a different man, a man who seemed to tower over Jesse and was gazing at him with strong distaste. Jesse looked at him for a moment before he said something.

"I suppose, now that you can look at me, you may be willing to explain what you're doing here."

Jesse opened his mouth to answer just as a voice behind him spoke up.

"I owe you nothing. You know why I'm here."

Jesse turned around and found a man of familiar stature and roughness. Could it be Reynolds? No, if they had caught him and Reynolds, the rest of Deadlock would be right there with them. The cell was big enough, and in the Deadlock Gang you ride together, die together, get caught together. No, this wasn't Reynolds. Then who?

"I know you seem to enjoy a heavy drink. Ring a bell?" The guard was talking to the man again.

"If you're only here to patronize me, you can go."

"Oh, and what do we have here? A criminal trying to set authority over a government employee? Hanzo Shimada, you've been free for far too long, and even if you're only in here on battery, we can and will make your life Hell if you so much as breathe too heavy. Are we clear?"

The man this guard called Hanzo was silent. That seemed to be as much as the guard could take of his attitude, so with a huff, he was off, back to wherever the long arm of the law stroked the corresponding short dick of the law. Jesse laughed at that thought but was grim when he turned to Hanzo.

"Hanzo." He meant to put a questioning intonation into that word, but it ended up coming out as a statement, almost a command. Hanzo was still silent, sitting cross legged and staring through Jesse out into the prison corridor. In a sudden moment of clarity, Jesse realized that this was the man who had roughed up the cashier at the convenience store.

"Who are you?" Jesse asked, his eyes widening with suspicion.

"He says my name true, Hanzo Shimada, of the Shimada Clan."

"Tell me, pardner, what exactly went on back in that store?"

"I wouldn't tell to a kid like you, as much as I recognize that we're in the same peril."

"And whadya mean by that?"

"We've both been turned in. When the authorities came to arrest me, that man reported you to the authorities as well, for buying alcohol with a fake ID. When they traced the ID, it led them to the Deadlock Gang, and they busted your whole operation here."

Jesse's blood stopped. His heart ceased to exist. His mind felt fuzzy. Any opportunity for a turnaround in the day ran down the drain, like so much wasted alcohol at a party gone horribly wrong.

At that moment, in the height of his new Hell, his vision became blurred and the jail cell faded away, letting in more light. Once he adjusted his eyes, Jesse found himself out on a street corner in a bright city he quickly recognized- Santa Fe, New Mexico. He saw himself, 12 years old, sitting on the curb of the lonesome, decrepit street, a revolver in hand.

"Alright, buddy, if you can hit each of those cans with just one bullet each, we can go get some ice cream!" It was his Uncle Eddie.


	6. McCree, Part 2

"Alright, buddy, if you can hit each of those cans with just one bullet each, we can go get some ice cream!" It was his Uncle Eddie.

Jesse reflected. He wasn't sure if Uncle Eddie had actually been his uncle, but his parents always called him Uncle Eddie and that had been good enough for him. Uncle Eddie would come around about two or three times a year for as long as Jesse could remember, and every time was reason for excitement in the boy's heart. Sometimes it was gifts, and Jesse cherished them all, even the ones that weren't as great. Sometimes he would just come over to have a couple beers and hang out; it was during one of these visits that Jesse had gotten his first taste of alcohol, the poison that would follow him to his grave. Other times Uncle Eddie visited, he would take Jesse out somewhere, which was a treat for everyone involved, including Jesse's over exhausted parents.

On one of these trips, Uncle Eddie had brought 10 year old Jesse McCree to a shooting range. Outside the place, which already looked sketchy enough to Jesse, Uncle Eddie crouched down to the kid's level and made him swear to never tell his parents about how Uncle Eddie had taken him to something called a shooting range. Uncle Eddie made Jesse swear to say he had taken him to the park, or zoo, or something else just as innocent instead. Jesse was incredibly anxious about what was about to happen, but he agreed, because, after all, it was just Uncle Eddie, and Uncle Eddie would never do anything to hurt Jesse.

Uncle Eddie opened the door and entered after letting Jesse in. As shabby as the outside looked, the inside of the shooting range seemed to Jesse like Daddy's closet, where he was warned never to go after he had once been caught snooping through the clutter. Uncle Eddie told Jesse to wait while Uncle Eddie signed in. While Uncle Eddie did that, Jesse wandered around the office, taking note of what he saw with his perceptive mind. The walls were adorned with lots of framed certificates as well as pages from gun catalogues and even guns themselves. Against the wall behind the desk was a filing cabinet. While Jesse was looking at it, he saw the man at the desk lean down to open the bottom drawer, labeled O-Z, and take out a thick folder. He brought it up to the desk and talked over it with Uncle Eddie for what felt to Jesse like an hour. Both of them gestured towards Jesse a number of times, the man wearing something of an incredulous look. Then the man had Uncle Eddie sign some things. Jesse also signed some things, even though no kid at his age would have been able to comprehend the meaning of those wordy documents. All they meant to Jesse was that he could finally be done in this office and see whatever it was Uncle Eddie wanted him to do.

The desk man led Uncle Eddie and Jesse to a room farther back, where he and Uncle Eddie talked some more, then finally broke, the man leaving the two of them alone. Uncle Eddie explained to Jesse what a shooting range was, and Jesse became excited at once. As always, Uncle Eddie had come through. While Jesse thought about the number of exciting implications this could have on his life, Uncle Eddie helped him equip the necessary safety garb, including protective goggles and ear muffs. Then he picked out a gun from a case he had brought. It looked small- small and safe, unlike the comically oversized guns Jesse was used to seeing on TV. This was a gun for shooting at panels of paper with silhouettes drawn on them, not for killing. Jesse felt safe. Jesse felt happy. He watched from behind the white painted line as Uncle Eddie readied the gun, stood for a moment, and then fired a round. It made a sound like a woosh of sharp air. Jesse was delighted. Uncle Eddie motioned for him to take off his ear muffs and asked if he wanted to learn, to which Jesse responded with a resounding affirmative. Uncle Eddie took a few minutes to walk Jesse through things like form and safety, then let him at it. That day Jesse shot better than 40 rounds, of which 5 hit the target, one of them a bullseye. Uncle Eddie noted that Jesse had some real talent locked away, and if he was willing to practice some more, Uncle Eddie could help him unlock it. Jesse's answer was, again, a resounding affirmative.

So he practiced for the next two years, keeping it a secret from his parents the whole time. Uncle Eddie still only showed up one day out of every few months, but when he did, they would always spend almost the entire day shooting. When Uncle Eddie couldn't come, Jesse would sneak off to the shooting range on his own, eventually building a strong rapport with the owner, who was more than happy to pay for guns and ammo himself in order to see a young person advance so quickly in the passion his range catered to. In that formative time, Jesse honed his strength, patience, aim, and natural talent to almost outdo even Uncle Eddie. Those two years were the best of the boy's young life, because he had finally found his calling, his passion; even at his young age, he could identify that what he had was rare. There are people who go their whole lives living for nothing but the next meal, the next outing with friends, the next big news that will shake up the town. And those are fine things to live for, Jesse supposed, but in his eyes he had found something which truly gave his life a purpose above almost anyone else. Jesse was a Gunslinger, and damn well proud of it.

Jesse thought of those two years as he stood there, watching Uncle Eddie and himself at 12 years old. That wasn't a guess at the age of the kid. He recognized what and when this was, as well as how it had ended. Uncle Eddie had decided that Jesse was ready to shoot at "real" targets, ones where there was no "close", only hit or miss. He had taken Jesse out to a remote part of Santa Fe where there was virtually no traffic and had placed 6 cans from the trash at Jesse's family's apartment in a line on the other side of the street. The challenge was simple, yet daring: hit each of the 6 cans with only 6 rounds, with ice cream on the line. Miss any, and Jesse failed- not that Uncle Eddie would have forgone ice cream with him. Jesse knew that above all the danger, the serious tones Uncle Eddie would take, and the competitive spirit of it all, this was merely something for him and Uncle Eddie to bond over. Jesse loved Uncle Eddie, and knew Uncle Eddie loved him back. Why else would he spend all this time trying to bond with Jesse to make up for not being around?

Jesse picked up his gun of choice, a revolver of a model Jesse couldn't have recalled at that age; he only shot the guns, he didn't pay attention to any specifics like brands or models or what-have-you-else. The familiar weight, however, was something he did remember, even when he was older, standing off to the side as a ghostly spectator, there but not really.

Young Jesse stood there quietly eyeing the cans, calculating his aim using a part of his brain he had worked well over the prior two years. After a few moments his hand shot up and marked each one of the six tin cans within the space of a few seconds. He had never been that accurate, that _quick_ before, and the older Jesse could still remember exactly how he had felt. The rush of blood to his cheeks, feeling almost embarrassed at the sudden display of his ability, the crushing embrace from Uncle Eddie's bare arms which lifted him 3 feet off the ground to the level of Uncle Eddie's stubble of a beard. If only Jesse could live inside that moment forever, he may know peace.

Uncle Eddie suggested Jesse try again, and if he could hit all 6 with the same sort of precision, they would go out for a movie as well as ice cream. And by God, Jesse had chosen to up his ante. While Uncle Eddie was setting the cans up again, Jesse took a good look at his revolver. Always perceptive and curious, Jesse wanted to see how the gun really functioned. It didn't take much more than a 12 year old to determine that the bullets come out when the lever is pressed, but Jesse wanted to understand at a deeper level than that. _How_ did the trigger send the bullets out? Jesse wished Uncle Eddie had explained to him at some gritty mechanical level how guns worked. As it was, Jesse was fidgeting with the revolver while Uncle Eddie was searching for the cans, all of them having been blown off in whatever direction their shapes and weights had decided to carry them. When Uncle Eddie came back, Jesse was working out how the safety functioned. He was getting a pretty good idea. The safety worked to physically block the bullets from leaving the chamber, somehow. He had loaded the gun and was marvelling at how consistently the system worked. Safety on, shoot, nothing happens. Safety off, shoot, bullet flies out. This was all fine and dandy, in the name of the creative spirit, only Uncle Eddie would beg to differ. He had never even taught Jesse how to load a gun, so when he noticed what the boy was doing, he did what he knew in this sort of dangerous situation- he yelled. And, in going straight to what he knew, he managed to get a bullet lobbed through his eye by the startled kid who was not his nephew.

Jesse watched this unfold. Even in the presence of the person he trusts more and almost loves more than he does his parents, a 12 year old kid is easily scared, _especially_ by adults, and even _more_ so by yelling adults. Uncle Eddie fell with a _fwoomp_ sound and an ear splitting scream that caused older Jesse's blood and heart to stop for the second time that day. Uncle Eddie crumpled to the ground, dented cans rolling out of his hands, and that was where he stayed to the end of his dying breaths for which no one was around to hear. As soon as younger Jesse had realized what he did, he had run off through the streets of this terrifying branch of Santa Fe, New Mexico. It may have occurred to him to grab Uncle Eddie's phone to call for help, but in his panic stricken mind, all he could do was run. He ran straight through the city and even out to the city limits before stopping to think about what had just happened to him on that fine Santa Fe day.


End file.
